


Shoelaces

by LuminaStarCrest



Series: SBI Oneshots [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, At some parts, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, in all but Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminaStarCrest/pseuds/LuminaStarCrest
Summary: Tommy never learned how to tie his shoelaces.My take on how dsmp!Wilbur and dsmp!Tommy met, and everything that comes after.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: SBI Oneshots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152743
Comments: 28
Kudos: 405





	Shoelaces

Wilbur sighed as he looked up at the empty walls of their house—hand clutching a now crumpled up note. He was alone. Again. This was the third time that year that he woke up, only to be greeted by silence—and it was only February. 

The sixteen year old scoffed before heading off to the kitchen to prepare himself some breakfast, throwing the piece of paper in the bin. _This always happens._ He thought as he got out some eggs from the fridge. _Leaving so early in the morning._ He cracked the eggs, letting them cook over a hot pan. _I get it. So I'm not the best child out there—hell Phil prefers that kid he randomly found than his own son. But would it kill him to at least let me know a few days before they actually leave._ Wilbur then grabbed a couple of pieces of bread before spreading butter on them and letting them cook. _Not even a 'Goodbye'. All he knows is leaving notes with six words in them._

_**Left with Techno. Be back soon.** _

_Always the same six words._

Wilbur took a plate and slid the toasts and eggs on it before setting it on the dining table. He sat at the end, fork in hand, eyes wondering as he ate. _Had the house always felt this bare?_

He could remember a time when the house was lively—when was it again? When he was five, maybe four? Point is, it was a time when laughter can be heard, no matter what time of day it was. Phil rarely left Wilbur alone back then. In fact, the older would be showering WIlbur with affection all the time.

Back then, the walls of the house would look like a vibrant shade of brown, with yellow sunlight lighting up the inside as it passes through the windows. The place would filled with frames with pictures of baby Wilbur, sometimes he was with Phil, but those pictures always turned out blurry 'cause Phil has a hard time holding the camera right. The kitchen always looked colorful with all the different food that Phil would make for him to make sure he gets all the nutrients that he needs.

Now, things are different.

Wilbur not wanting to see them anymore—the pictures were taken down, no recent ones to take its place. The kitchen was always on the verge of being empty as Wilbur only needed to shop for one person. The brown walls were still brown, yet to Wilbur, everything just looks gray and bare.

The brunet snapped out of his small trance when he heard shuffling from outside the door. _Don't tell me mobs are going through the trash again._ Wilbur sighed, sliding the chair back as he stood up, grabbing a sword, as he made his way towards the noise.

He opened the door and immediately held whatever was there at the mercy of the sword's tip. Wilbur froze when he saw what he was pointing the weapon at. 

A young boy with blond hair hissed at him before backing away. He was wearing a dirty red and white shirt, ripped shorts—maybe it used to be pants—and his feet was bare. "Hey! Can't a guy go through another guy's trash in peace?" The boy—he looked like he was eight—exclaimed.

"What?" Wilbur asked, confused at the situation.

"If you leave me alone, I'd be out of 'cho hair sooner." The boy went back to looking through the trash. "Ohh, canned sardines," he whispered, stuffing the unopened can in his worn out satchel.

"That's expired," Wilbur said, "and frankly, quite unsanitary."

"'ey, man's gotta eat somehow."  
  
Wilbur felt something tug at his heart as the young boy said that. Without even thinking, his mouth moved on their own, "Well, why don't you come with me and eat something actually edible."

The boy furrowed his eyebrows, head tilting to the side, "How do I know you aren't just gonna fuckin' murder me?"

Something about a literal child swearing at him made Wilbur chuckle. "I'm not gonna murder you. Why would I even do that?"

The boy was silent for a moment before shrugging, "Good enough for me. I'm starving." 

Wilbur allowed the boy to enter the house. "Do you have a name or should I keep referring to you as boy, kid, child, in my head?"

The kid hummed, "No, I don't think I've got one of those. Is that like an expensive kind of shirt or something?"

"You don't know what a name is?" Wilbur asked. "It's what you call other people. Like 'Wilbur'. Wilbur is my name, so people call me that."

"Sounds stupid," the boy said. 

Wilbur felt his eye twitch, unintentionally. "Well, I'm not calling you kid the whole time so," he hummed. "I'll just call me Tommy, yeah?"

"I don't care what you fuckin' call me, just give me the damn food," Tommy said.

"Alright, alright, you impatient prick," Wilbur said as he went and prepare the same food as he made for himself. Speaking of, his food was still on the dinning table—half-eaten. 

"Hey! That's mine," Wilbur shooed the boy to the other end of the table, making him wash his hands then sit down. He placed the plate in front of Tommy, offering the younger a fork.   
  
"The hell is this?" Tommy asked taking the utensil from the brunet, and going along with his instincts.

"Don't poke me with it!" Wilbur exclaimed avoiding the fork that was being shoved towards him. "You use that for eating," he explained, "so that your hands don't need to get all messy."

Tommy hummed, poking the eggs around with the fork. 

"Watch me, Tommy," Wilbur said demonstrating to the kid how to use it. 

Tommy, though sloppy, was quite a fast learner. 

"So," Wilbur started, "how old are you?" 

"I don't know," he said. "Got thrown out of the house when I was three, never learned how to count higher than that."

A flash of sympathy flashed in Wilbur's eyes. Why in the world would someone throw a kid out? Yeah, Phil doesn't care much for him, but at least he has a place to stay at and food to eat—hell he had actual clothes. This boy—a child—has nothing. 

_It's not like Phil and Techno are gonna be home any time soon._

"Hey Tommy," Wilbur said.

"What?" The boy asked, bitterness in his voice. Why? Wilbur doesn't know.

"What would you say if I told you that you can stay here for a few days or something?" He asked.

"I'd say you're stupid for letting a stranger stay," Tommy said. "But hey, if I get to mooch off of you, why would I say no?"

Wilbur rolled his eyes, "Well, after breakfast, maybe you'd like to bathe or something. You smell like shit."

"You _look_ like shit."

"You little shit."

***

Wilbur left Tommy to clean himself up—hopefully the kid knows how to. He went to gather a few of his old clothes for Tommy to wear. A long sleeved shirt, some shorts, and laced-up shoes. "I'm leaving the clothes out the door! Come downstairs when you're done," WIlbur shouted from the other side of the door, waiting for acknowledgement, before going downstairs to sit at the couch. 

Footsteps caught Wilbur's attention. He raised his head from the book that he was reading to see Tommy—all clean and wearing comfy looking clothes—walking down the stairs. "There we go," Wilbur said. "Now isn't that nice?"

Tommy hummed, "Yeah, feels weird though," he said. "Also, what's with these?" He lifted a foot and wiggled it around, making the shoelaces fly all over the place.

"They're laces," Wilbur said, gesturing for Tommy to sit down. "They help keep the shoe on your foot." He sat on the floor, hands grabbing the ends of the laces.

"Look, you cross these two together." Wilbur pulled on the laces. "Then you make loops, like bunny ears with these," he demonstrated, "then you make one go over the other, make it go through this hole here, then pull!" Wilbur pulled, tying the laces successfully.

"You try," he said to the blond. 

Tommy groaned, "This is fuckin' stupid." He tried redoing what Wilbur showed him, ultimately failing. Wilbur laughed a bit, making Tommy's face bright red out of embarrassment, "Don't laugh, dickhead!"

"Sorry, but how did you manage to tangle it up so much?" 

***

The day went by fast after that. They had small talks, Wilbur taught Tommy a couple more things, Tommy cussed him out a bit more. Kid might not know how to count but he sure as hell had a colorful vocabulary.

"And that's why you shouldn't talk to strangers," Wilbur said as he and Tommy ate dinner.

"Pretty fucking ironic 'ey?" Tommy said.

Wilbur huffed out a laugh, "You'd know, wouldn't you?"  
  
"You were the one who talked first, so I'd say this is all your fault," Tommy said. 

Wilbur laughed. He couldn't remember when was the last time he laughed. He couldn't remember when was the last time the house had a tad bit of color. 

After dinner, Wilbur lead Tommy to a spare bedroom—not the one that Technoblade uses—but one that was never used. "Here's some blankets," Wilbur said dumping it all on the small boy. "It's cold at night, so make sure to bundle up, yeah?"

"Yeah..." Tommy trailed off. "Thanks, Wilbur." 

Wilbur let a small smile slip onto his lips, "Good night, Tommy."

"G'night."

***

"Man, when you said a couple fo days, I thought you would have gotten rid of me now," Tommy said as he walked down the stairs one morning. "It's been two months, are you _that_ attached to me now?"

Wilbur rolled his eyes, "Shut up child," he said. "Phil and techno still aren't back, so why would I throw you out." He turned around to face the blond. "Do you need help with your shoelaces?"

"...Yes."

Wilbur chuckled and crouched down to tie the laces up again. "You should know how to do this by now, Tommy."

"If it wasn't so fuckin' complicated, then maybe I would know," Tommy snapped back.

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something back, but nothing came out as he heard voices coming closer to the house. 

"We're home, Wilbur!" Phil pushed the door open, a pink haired male, with pig-like features, just behind him. "Who's this?" The man asked when his eyes landed on the boy.

Wilbur stood up and faced the two with an unamused face. "Missed you too I guess," he said.

"Wilbur, who is this?" Phil repeated, his eyes wandering towards the clothes Tommy was wearing, the dinning table that was set for two, then back at his son and the kid. "Why are you letting strangers in the house? Do you know how fucking dangerous that is?" Phil yelled, making Tommy flinch. 

Wilbur noticed the small movement that Tommy gave, and made the boy move behind him. "Strangers?" Wilbur asked. "You're one to talk. One day you just brought Techno—a stranger—home and housed him! What difference does this situation make?" He asked, irritation rising.

"Techno wasn't a stranger!" Phil said, voice raising. "I trust him enough to let him stay with us because I actually know him!"

"Yeah? Well guess what _dad,_ " Wilbur said, malice laced on the last word. "Tommy has only been staying with me for two months, but you're more of a stranger to me than he is!"

"What are you talking about? Wil, I am you're father," Phil said.

"Well you can't expect to leave your child for months on end and expect him to be happy about it! You've been leaving me on my own since I turned six, we barely talk when you get home because you're _so_ tired from your trips. Then what? You bring home another kid? What the fuck is that?" Wilbur yelled.

"Wil, you just don't understand. Let me exp—"

"There's _nothing_ for you to explain!" Wilbur yelled before taking in a deep breath, "Tommy's staying," he stated, holding the said boy by his shoulders.

Phil opened his mouth to protest but closed it when he saw the look in Wilbur's eyes. "Do what you want."

***

"Do we have to leave?" Tommy asked, the now 20 year old Wilbur.

Wilbur continued to pack his bag, "Yeah. I've had enough of this house," he said. "I actually have a place in mind where we could move to."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, prompting the older to explain. 

"You know Sally?" Wilbur asked.

"Yeah, she's your girlfriend isn't she?"

"Yup. We're moving to the area she lives in," he said. "We're planning to get married, actually."

"Where am I gonna live if you live with her then?" Tommy asked.

"With us of course," he said. "I'm not just gonna leave you out there to rot you know."  
  
Tommy smirked.

"Though that _does_ sound tempting."

"Oh come off it you dickhead!"

Wilbur shook his head fondly, "Let's go," he said, slinging the bag over his shoulders. "Shoelaces big man."

Tommy groaned before crouching down to tie his laces. 

"You know what, I like them like this," he said, standing and giving up.

"I've been teaching you how to do this for years now," Wilbur said, crouching down to do it. "You cross these two together." Wilbur pulled on the laces. "Make loops, make one go over the other, make it go through this hole here, then pull!" Wilbur pulled, tying the laces successfully.

"You know what, it'll benefit both of us of you just became my shoelace bitch," Tommy said. 

"I—" Wilbur laughed, shaking his head—"I do not agree to that."

***

"Do I shoot him Wil, or do I aim for the skies?"

Wilbur looked up from the shoes of the young sixteen year old that he was tying, only to be met by a conflicted face. "Tommy, I... I want you to do whatever your heart says you should do."

Tommy let out a sigh, "Alright," he grabbed the bow. 

"I taught you how to count yeah?" Wilbur suddenly asked. "Make sure to turn and fire at 10."

***

"Maybe if you actually learnt how to tie them up, you wouldn't have tripped," Wilbur said as he watched the younger boy fix up his wounds from his fight in the pit. "Maybe then you would have had a chance."

"Shut the fuck up Wilbur," Tommy said. He didn't like this Wilbur. Not at all. The real Wilbur would have been more caring, more worried, more loving. This wasn't the Wilbur that he knew.

***

Today was the day. 

"This is where we take it all back," Wilbur said. "Either that, or we get nothing."

Tommy watched Wilbur pace around as he sat down on the ground next to the L'mantree. "We should get going and meet up with the others," Tommy said. 

"Shoelace," Wilbur said. 

Tommy looked down, his shoelaces were untied again. He let out a sigh, "I don't even care anymore."

Wilbur let out a laugh, making Tommy perk up. This was no deranged laugh. This was the laugh of the same old Wilbur that took him in when he was younger. This was the same laugh of his older brother.

"Do you need help with it then?" Wilbur asked.

"..." Tommy hesitates, "Yes."

Wilbur crouched down. "You cross these two together." Wilbur pulled on the laces. "Make loops, make one go over the other, make it go through this hole here, then pull!" Wilbur pulled, tying the laces successfully. 

Tommy smiled at the familiar instructions, but no matter how many times Wilbur showed him he just couldn't get it right. 

"You need to know how to do this, Tommy," Wilbur said.

"Why should I when I have you to do it for me?" 

"And what if I'm no longer here to do it for you?"

Tommy paused. That was not the response he was expecting. Something about the way Wilbur said it didn't feel right. _I'm overthinking this._ Tommy thought before forcing a wide smile.

"Then I'd just get one of them shoes that got no laces!" He joked making Wilbur laugh.

Tommy smiled for real this time. He loved making Wilbur happy.

Though, now that he thinks back to this moment, he regrets telling that joke in the first place

***

Tommy walked around, the now half-restored, L'manberg. Distracted by the floating lanterns, he didn't realize he tripped over something until he hit the ground. "Shit," he cursed as he dusted the dirt off of his shirt.

He looked at the ground, trying to find what tripped him, when his eyes landed on his shoes. "Fuckin' shoelaces." He grabbed the two end and twisted them around, trying to tighten the shoe's hold on his foot. He kept twisting them but he still couldn't get it right. 

_What did Wilbur say again?_ "You cross these two together." Tommy muttered, Wilbur's voice echoing in his mind. "Make loops," his voice shakes as he hears the voice in his head reprimand him for doing it wrong. "Make one go over the other..." Tommy let go of the laces, wiping the tears in his eyes. He let out sniffles at first before it turned into sobs. 

_Why the fuck am I crying. They're just shoelaces!_ Tommy scolded himself. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stop crying. He stared at his shoes. _I miss Wilbur._

_"Hello!"_

Tommy froze when he heard the familiar—though echo-y—voice. His head whipped around and found a transparent figure floating in front of him.

_"Do you need help with your shoelaces?"_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you guys enjoyed this part! 
> 
> I'm not sure how good this is, but I'm trying to improve writing angst-y fics 'cause I don't really write them, so I hope this does well!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and suggestions are appreciated.
> 
> -LuminaStarCrest


End file.
